


Touched By a Winchester

by ColtsAndQuills



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (albeit slightly steamy), Bath Time at the Bunker, F/M, Fluff, Supernatural imagine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-29
Updated: 2014-11-29
Packaged: 2018-02-27 09:51:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2688350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColtsAndQuills/pseuds/ColtsAndQuills
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For an angel from the fall, catching a bad cold is an extra stroke of bad fortune. Lucky for her, Dean's pretty good at making people feel better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touched By a Winchester

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a writing request I received over [here](http://coltsandquills.tumblr.com/post/103782454086/a-n-alexissmiles2-happy-thanksgiving-and-hope). Usually I'll go with "you" for these kinds of requests, but I had started writing in the third person perspective and wound up rolling with it.

“ _It’s easier to deal with them when they’re douches_ ,” Dean thought, watching her fumble with the bathtub’s faucet. As powered-up superbitches, angels were just another enemy on the playing field, as faceless as the many demons he and Sammy took down over the years.

But like this — weak, vulnerable, alone — they seemed so… human. And between his brother and Cas, he had more than enough people to worry about.

"Why is this so difficult!” she cried out in frustration, slapping at the faucet’s knobs. It earned her a smart sting along the side of her hand which brought tears to her eyes. If she was as she should be, that slap would have knocked the metal fixture cleanly from the wall.

The hunter sighed from his place at the bathroom doorway and walked over to join her. He took her hand in his, rubbing his fingers along the parts of her skin that had turned an angry red. She momentarily forgot her irritation and pain as she observed his touch with wonder, bewildered that his fingertips, hardened and calloused, could be so soothing.

All the while, Dean was watching her face as carefully as she was watching his hands. When their eyes met, he released her and turned away.

“It’s not just you,” he said, leaning over to crank at the faucet handles with a complicated series of twists and pulls. “This probably hasn’t seen a plumber since it was put in. Gotta play with it to get it going.”

Under his care, the water that had eluded her began to rush out, hot and steaming. He turned around to explain how to control the temperature, but the words lodged in his throat. Her bra was dropping to the floor, where it would join the sweater she had pulled off while his back was turned. Sometime during the disbelieving raise of his eyebrows, her jeans followed suit. It wasn’t until her thumbs hooked along the waistband of her panties that Dean hastily jerked around, taking a sudden and intense interest in a chip in the wall.

“You think this vessel is that repelling?” she asked.

“Huh? Nah, no. Nope.” The objections tumbled out and over one another in a failed attempt at sounding aloof. On the inside, a small voice yelled at him to get his crap together and elaborate. “Great vessel. Awesome.”  There, like that. Perfectly smooth. _…damn._

Dean didn’t need to face her to know she was watching him. He sucked a sharp breath between his teeth and turned around, determinedly keeping his line of sight above her neck.

Her brows were lowered in that quizzical way that reminded him of Cas.

“I don’t understand. This isn’t your first time seeing the female form. Chastity isn’t one of the virtues for which you are known.”

The tension that had been holding Dean’s smooth expression in place broke apart. “Look, sweetheart, I’m not being modest here for my sake. But girls usually don’t go flashing around… all of that—” his hand made a wild, flapping gesture, “—without a reason.”

“I do have a reason. I’m in here to bathe.” She said each word carefully, as if explaining to a very simple child.

Dean appeared agitated at what she considered an obvious reply, but her head was too heavy to puzzle over his behavior. Every breath felt like it was being drawn through water, and her body was beginning to tremble with a chill that the heavy steam of the room didn’t touch.

“—Ok?” Dean asked, his voice cutting through the discomfort.

“What?” She hadn’t realized her attention had drifted. Dean looked like he might be frowning, but it was hard to tell; the light in the room had somehow become too harsh, too overbearing, making his concerned gaze swim in and out of view.

“I said if you’re all set here, I’m heading back to the study.”

“Yes, of course.” She turned to take a step toward the tub, and abruptly found the porcelain rushing up to greet her. For the second time in her life, it would seem she was falling.

“Whoa, hey!” Dean’s quick reflexes were the only thing that came between her and a concussion, if not worse. He caught her before she could go very far, his broad hand splayed securely against her lower back as she leaned into his chest.

“Oh, thank you,” she breathed. Her eyes were squeezed shut as she tried to focus on the sensation of warm, rough cotton on her skin rather than the walls that spun about her. “Falling isn’t nearly as bad when you have someone to catch you.”

“Uh huh.” Dean’s free hand moved to her forehead, making her heart skip a beat, though she didn’t have the energy to protest. The gesture was too much like the angelic killing stroke. She instinctively braced herself, but rather than pain, she merely felt his thumb brushing a damp lock of hair away from her brow.

“You’ve got a hell of a fever,” he announced. The words rumbled in his chest in a way she found pleasant, despite the situation. She tried to reply, but what came out was little more than a noncommittal “mmn.”

Dean scooped her into his arms as easily as if she were a child. She didn’t have time to feel ashamed, the sensation of hot water soon distracting her from any objections. In this human body, it was unlike anything she had ever felt before, and she gasped.

“Sorry!” Dean exclaimed. He quickly reached over and turned on the tap for the cold. The water was already high, cresting over the swell of her breasts. When he dipped his arm in to slosh the cooler streams about, it splashed over the side of the tub, but he paid it no mind. “There, better?”

Her lashes were lowered, so she didn’t see the way he was staring. This was the kind of scene that had been the backdrop of a few of the hunter’s dirtier escapades, but Dean had played the part of caretaker far more than that of playboy, despite what reputation might suggest, and right now he was more focused on the pain on her face than the generous view below the waterline.

“Easy, don’t move.”

Her eyes fluttered open when she felt a damp facecloth being gently pressed to her forehead. To her, it was deliciously cool, but Dean could feel the heat of her fever burning beneath the cloth. She saw he had removed his flannel shirt, hopelessly soaked to the elbow, leaving him in a black tee long faded by cheap laundromats.

“Why are you being so kind?” she murmured.

“Cas said you were one of the good guys.” He dipped the facecloth below the surface of the water. “To be honest, I trust angels about as much as I trust demons. But if Cas believes in you…” Dean shrugged, letting the gesture speak for itself.

She peered, finding little logic in his reasoning. “But Castiel is strange.”

Dean let out an unexpected snort of laughter. “Yeah, he is, isn’t he?”

“I meant… he not only loves you humans, he admires you. Sometimes, I even think he envies you.” She tried to make a small sniff of distaste, but her nose was sealed tight, making her scowl. “There’s nothing to envy about this. Every breath is a struggle, my body aches, and my head feels as heavy as the Covenant.”

The corner of Dean’s lip turned up impishly. “Being human ain’t all bad. It has its perks.”

One glance at her face showed she wasn’t buying it. “Like what?”

“Well…” His hand found a place at the base of her neck and guided her until she was sitting up. He once again lowered the facecloth into the water, saturating it with liquid warmth, before smoothing it over the top of her vertebrae, thumbs firmly kneading the tender muscle around the bone.

She didn’t say a word, but he saw her catch her lower lip between her teeth.

Nah. Not good enough. Dean Winchester could convince her better than that.

“We get more than our fair share of pain, but…”

He moved lower, the swab of cloth creating a gentle friction between her shoulder blades. Dean was awakening nerve endings she didn’t know she had, his palms guiding the coarse fabric across the delicate curves of her shoulders, sweeping across the breadth of her chest with tender, languid strokes. The hunter seemed to know her body better than she did. Under his strong hands, muscles that were unconsciously held tight melted with every touch. Slowly but surely, the pressure that had weighed on her since she had gotten this damned cold was being pulled from her bones. Without meaning to, a quiet, satisfied sigh escaped her now parted lips.

_Yahtzee._

Dean’s impish smile stretched into a smug smirk. Kneeling, he leaned against the side of the bathtub, propped by an elbow, and playfully cocked his eyebrow.

Her gaze reluctantly slid to meet his. “You’re not very humble, are you?” she asked.

He replied with a shrug that said “I am what I am.” A boyish gesture that, in combination with the laughter that touched his eyes, stole years from his face.

“And you’re also not a weapon,” she concluded, catching Dean off guard. “You were not right for Michael. Hands like yours were not meant to do harm.”

Dean chuckled dryly. “That kind of conclusion just from a light rubdown? You’re not making me any more humble.”

She pulled away, wounded. It had been an honest sentiment on her part, but Dean couldn’t help it. Sincerity and him were not pals. Sarcasm was the faithful and reliant deflector whenever it got too close.

“You actually admitting your dad made a bad call?” he quipped, knowing a jab at an absentee father was usually a quick and easy way to light a spark. He’d rather she be angry at him than hurt.

“No.” She was frowning, but Dean had the impression the look wasn’t meant for him. “But maybe _we_ did. Maybe that was never the plan for you at all.”

“Hey.” He didn’t like angels, he reminded himself, as he reached over to gently cup her cheek. “For now, you’re grounded with us humans. Which means you can admit we all make mistakes, and move on. Sound good?”

She paused, then slowly brought her hand up to cover his. “As I said. Not a weapon’s hands.”

Stubborn. Typical angel.

But she was smiling at him, warm and sweet.

Okay. Maybe not _entirel_ _y_ typical.

Dean opened his mouth, ready to parry with a lick of sarcasm or a flirtatious jab, when the door slammed open, making them both jump.

Sam stood there, eyes moving from Dean’s discarded shirt on the floor, to the fully bared angel, to his brother’s hand on her rosy cheek. Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes to get this girl stripped and blushing. Factoring in that she was an angel, this had to be a new record.

He shut the door nearly as quickly as he opened it, muttering something that sounded like “every damn time” under his breath.

The angel’s brows raised.

"First time seeing the female form," Dean offered.

"Ah."

He bit the inside of his cheek to stop from grinning.

"Come on, let’s get you dried off and tucked into bed. Bit of whiskey and honey, bedtime story, and you’ll feel like a brand new person by morning."

She nodded, but the truth was, she was already starting to feel like a new person. It had nothing to do with her cold, but this short, simple moment with the hunter. Given time, would she become like Castiel, infatuated with these humans?

Dean helped her to her feet, draped a warm, fluffy towel around her. And then, as if suspecting what was on her mind, he winked.

…Yes.

Given time, maybe she could be that strange, too.


End file.
